The Story, The Mask, and The Fire
by Mademoiselle Bree
Summary: Leroux based. Christine just wants a little company, and Erik does, too. Just a little one-shot. Please Review!


**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not own the characters.**

She saw him peek around the corner. She knew he wanted to come in, but didn't really want to approach her. He didn't know how.

She stared into the fire in the hearth, smiling as it licked at the logs. Surely he would come in eventually. Perhaps not, though. He was so frightened of her, yet she was of him, too. Setting aside the book, she made up her mind.

"Erik? Will you come here?" she would pretend like she never saw him. It worked, though. After a few moments, he was standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Christine?" he was like a five year old, weary, fearful, and wringing his hands together.

She patted the couch next to her, and he cocked his head to the side, looking as though he didn't understand what she was implying.

"Erik… does not understand. Does Christine not find the sofa to her liking? She shall not despair, as the chair is much softer. Erik will fix it."

Christine let out a soft sigh. Poor Erik. He didn't understand. He was so smart, yet knew nothing of society.

"No, Erik, I want you to sit with me."

He looked at her wearily, as if trying to decide whether she was sincere, then thought better. He walked slowly, taking each step as if it led to his death. Then, instead of sitting next to her on the couch, proceeded to sit on the floor a few feet away, facing her.

She sighed, knowing he wouldn't understand. So she stood, and swiftly sat on the carpet next to him.

Then, he refused to look at her. He occupied himself in picking at the carpet. There was a long time of silence. For Erik, it was blissful. Though he was so frightened, he found it amazing that she would sit with him. No one had ever done this… though it was strange.

On the other hand, for Christine it was awkward and strange. Yes, she feared this man for her life, but she was stuck down here with him. She mine as well make him happy and she knew he would be if she sought out his company. But with no talking, it was almost pointless.

"Erik, will you tell me a story?" he really did spin the most amazing webs, never failing to make Christine smile, laugh, and cry with the characters. And his almost angelic voice, it only added more intensity to the story. He could play the same scenes over and over in her mind, and she could picture it every time.

"What kind of story would dear Christine like?" he asked, looking at her with two glowing orbs from under the emotionless, white mask. But she could see a sort of smile playing on his face. A half smile of sorts. She shuddered to think of what was under the mask, but quickly pulled herself out of the thought, focusing on the question he had asked.

Truly, she did not care. She just wanted to hear his voice… the voice of the angel. The one part of him she could love. The part that she had fallen in love with.

"A happy one."

He smiled and began a story. It was a love story… the woman was a beauty, with fair skin and blonde hair. Her smile was radiant and angelic. The man was as ugly as she was beautiful, but he was incredibly intelligent. They had met when he rescued her from a lover who had gone mad with rage, proceeding to beat and rape her. It hadn't seemed like a happy story, but it changed as it went. She managed to fall in love with her savior, and even though he thought he was much below her and that she deserved much better, they eloped after some other complications, as all stories have.

It had a happy ending.

Christine smiled at Erik after the triumphant ending, upon which he was silent, only looking at her with a slightly turned head.

"That was beautiful, Erik. Where did you learn to be such a story teller?"

To this, he looked away, as if in sadness. "Though Erik is glad his dear Christine enjoys his stories, he wishes for her not to ask him those questions."

She just put her hand on his arm. He jumped slightly, but let her keep it there. She noticed the grim line of his lips – the only part of his face that she could really see. Then an idea hit her.

When her hand touched his mask, Erik looked at her gently. "Christine…" It was a warning tone. She knew what she was in for, though.

She slid her fingers under the mask and pulled it as slowly as she could from his face. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see her face. He hadn't tried to stop her.

She felt as scream build in her throat, but managed to choke it back, instead letting tears roll down her face upon the sight. It frightened her so much, but she just had to keep replaying his voice in her mind. She had to tell herself it was only a face. And it was the face of the voice she loved so much.

She set the mask next to her and placed her hand on his right check, causing him to let a small, shuddering sigh escape his mouth. She forced him to turn his face towards her, and he finally opened his eyes to look at her. Though he told himself he didn't want to, he really was curious about her reaction.

"Poor Erik. My poor, sad Erik," she said, continuing to let her hand stroke his face gently, feeling the ravaged flesh and committing it to memory. She didn't know why, but she wanted to memorize it. Perhaps hoping that it wouldn't frighten her so much anymore. She may not love him, but she was compassionate. She was so sad for him, and she only wanted to show him kindness and happiness, if only for a few small moments of his life.

He closed his eyes, this time in bliss, trying to memorize the feeling of her hands on the poor flesh that had never been touched gently by any hands except his own. He let out a content sigh, wishing the moment would never end, but knowing that if it did, he could die now and today, happy. Yes, for the first time in his life, he was truly happy.

When her hand finally pulled itself away, he opened his eyes curiously, only to see her looking at his mask in her hands. He reached out his hand, thinking she wanted him to put it back on. But she shook her head.

Then, she did something neither of them expect it. She tossed it into the fire.

That night, Erik smiled. Christine cried.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! **

**I wanted to post this little scene in celebration of my birthday!! Yay.**

**Reviews are always appreciated, of course, and I actually beg them of you(:**

**Let me know what you think of it.**

**I remain, gentlemen and ladies, your obedient writer,**

**Queen of Hearts (:**


End file.
